


To Know A Shadow

by Aspire_to_Inspire



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Seirin High - Freeform, hurt!Kuroko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-15 23:45:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18083270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspire_to_Inspire/pseuds/Aspire_to_Inspire
Summary: Team Teiko has seen Kuroko's weaknesses, but every time their shadow gets hurt, a member of the Generation of Miracles gets a chance to see his strengths. But with their talents on the rise and victory consuming them more and more, will they forget what the Phantom Sixth Man showed them about his heart...and theirs?Set in the early days of Teiko.





	1. Chapter 1

Of course Akashi noticed.

Tetsuya's misdirection may have worked flawlessly against opponents on the court, but Akashi could still keep track of him when he wanted to. And from where he stood on the sideline observing this particular practice match, he was less than pleased with what he saw.

His phantom player hadn't been keeping up, lagging behind the others so much that his availability to pass was suffering. Even the passes he completed were sloppier than Akashi had come to expect of him, keeping to short and easy targets. Once Akashi noticed these substandard results, he had set his sharp eyes on analyzing Tetsuya, and quickly worked out from his movements and posture the source of his problem.

The sixth man had suffered an injury.

None of the other players had yet noticed; Tetsuya's work, though discernible to his teammates, was hard to follow closely mid-game even if they had been trying to—and none of them were: Atsushi was supremely bored, Shintaro was cooly focused, and Daiki was highly enthused, as per usual. Akashi briefly entertained the idea of stopping the match and exposing Tetsuya in front of them all, knowing that, since Tetsuya had a natural aversion to causing trouble, the public reprimand and resulting fuss would suitably punish him for attempting to hide whatever was ailing him.

However, one player gave Akashi misgivings. Haizaki, too, was keeping more of an eye on Tetsuya than usual, clearly already aware of his condition. But, if the dark glee he failed to hide whenever Tetsuya winced was any indication, he had precious little sympathy for the teal-headed boy and no intention of bringing his distress to anyone's attention.

The evidence left little to the imagination. Akashi decided he would have to order some answers out of Tetsuya directly, away from any other player's potential interference.

The match ended, the teams were rearranged, and practice ran to its conclusion without incident. Just before he headed to the shower, Daiki finally noticed something was amiss.

“Oi, where's Tetsu?” He had his shoulders tensed, anticipating his shadow's sudden appearance. When it didn't come, the rest of the locker room checked over their own shoulders, confirming that Tetsuya was absent, not merely invisible. Akashi said nothing, and the others mutually decided that Tetsuya had simply gone ahead without anyone noticing. Later, when they emerged from the showers and gathered their bags with their phantom nowhere in sight, the same thing was concluded. When asked why he was staying behind, Akashi dismissed the question with a sharp look and the order to “go on ahead.” He then settled himself on the bench facing the gym door, and waited.

It didn't take long. Scarcely three minutes after the others had left, Tetsuya finally appeared, still slicked with sweat. He stopped just inside the door, meeting Akashi's scrutiny with his blank blue stare, obviously not surprised in the least to see him.

“Hello, Akashi-kun.”

Akashi didn't reply immediately, but let the silence stand, building tension—a tension that didn't visibly bother his sixth player. If Akashi had not had such absolute confidence in his authority he might have been annoyed, but this was always the way with Tetsuya: he was so easy to control it sometimes seemed that Akashi was failing to control him at all. He could sense his power when he bent Shintaro's stiff neck, or reined in Daiki's fire, but Tetsuya was like a feather between his fingers, so light he had to wonder if he was holding him at all.

But on to the business at hand. Assumedly because the other players were no longer present, the way Tetsuya held himself now—the slight slump of his shoulders, the distressed shifting of his weight, his carefully measured breaths—more clearly telegraphed that he was in pain. He couldn't have easily hidden an injury to his limbs, and he had displayed an overall hesitance to move at all. Therefore...

“Take off your shirt.”

Tetsuya's only reaction to his blunt command was to blink once. Then he grasped the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head.

The cause of his distress was immediately apparent. Against the whiteness of his skin were even whiter bandages wrapped around his lean stomach, now rumpled and sweaty from practice. Akashi leveled a glare at the offensive sight, then raised it to Tetsuya's face. “When did this happen?” he asked steadily.

“Yesterday.”

“Why didn't you tell the team?”

“They wouldn't have wanted me to play.”

“And me?” Akashi asked, dangerously calm. Tetsuya adopted a faintly contrite expression, but didn't look away.

“I knew Akashi-kun would notice.”

Again, that disarming compliance. Tetsuya hadn't intended to deceive Akashi; he'd assumed he would be able to see what the others would not and make a decision accordingly. Perhaps it was not the proper approach, but Akashi _had _ultimately decided to let him play.__

__Somewhat pacified, Akashi stood. “Go shower, then wait here for me.”_ _

__Tetsuya nodded once. “Hai.”_ _

__First, Akashi located the first aid box and removed the appropriate materials, then took it to the nurse's office and charmingly informed them that he had noticed it was out of bandages and could they restock it, please? He returned to find Tetsuya obediently waiting for him, hair still damp and his torso now completely bare, revealing an impressive collection of dark bruises._ _

__Akashi was pulled up short by a sudden surge of directionless wrath at the sight of the injury, but he swallowed it down and sat beside his player, straddling the bench so he was facing him from the side. Now that Tetsuya was sitting his posture had wilted even further, and Akashi imagined he wanted very little to be upright for much longer. Without warning, he reached out and prodded the bruised flesh, gauging Tetsuya's reaction as an indicator of the damage. At least, he was until Tetsuya flinched with the yelp of a puppy stepped on; then he was carefully filing away an emotional influx he didn't deign to identify. In silence, he produced the first roll of bandages and began to make use of them._ _

__“How did this happen?” he said evenly._ _

__“I was beaten up.” Akashi smiled dryly at the toneless reply. The redhead practiced emotional neutrality for its strategic value, but he had the impression it was Tetsuya's natural state at almost any given time. How convenient for the both of them._ _

__“Was Haizaki involved?” he asked, eyes flicking up to his face. Tetsuya tilted his head a degree, lifting his arm further from his side as Akashi passed his hands under it._ _

__“Yes, but not the way you're thinking, Akashi-kun.”_ _

__“Explain.”_ _

__“It was a...a bet. Or a dare, I guess.”_ _

__Akashi turned another flinty-eyed look at him. “I've never known you to take part in something so foolhardy as that.”_ _

__“Well, Haizaki told me that if I could keep these two boys busy for more than thirty seconds, he would help me make them leave.” Akashi set his jaw._ _

__“You were picking a fight?” he asked, anger bleeding into his words. Tetsuya gave a little gasp as Akashi pulled the wrap a bit tighter than was strictly necessary._ _

__“I had to. They were frightening these little girls.” Akashi's hands stilled for a moment, then he continued, this time keeping his eyes on his work as his mind clicked._ _

__“So you and Haizaki witnessed a pair of boys bullying some children, and Haizaki promised to back you up if you stalled them for thirty seconds?”_ _

__“Hai.”_ _

__The awful thing was that Akashi could picture it easily: Tetsuya's quiet yet immutable determination to take action despite his physical weakness, paired with Haizaki's playful cruel streak. He could see how Haizaki would have watched, smiling, as Tetsuya approached, as the boys started at his presence, perhaps told him to get lost. How he would have continued counting, slow and steady, as one of them took the first swing, as Tetsuya hit the ground, gasping for air. How he would have sauntered over once he reached thirty, thrown a few punches to scare them off, then had a good laugh while congratulating Tetsuya on his heroism._ _

__Akashi didn't really know what to call the feeling that welled up inside him, but it was more than simple anger. It felt hot and cold at the same time: biting cold when he thought of the words Tetsuya had just spoken, flaring heat when he looked at the bruises not yet covered. He wanted to burst into swift, retributive action; he wanted to play a long game that would leave Haizaki frozen beneath his gaze._ _

__But he knew he would do neither of those things._ _

__The wrap was now up to Tetsuya's ribs, concealing the damage. Akashi reached for the tabs to secure it, and said slowly, “Tetsuya...”_ _

__“It was wrong.”_ _

__Akashi looked up sharply, but Tetsuya wasn't making eye contact with him anymore._ _

__“It was a nasty thing for Haizaki to do. They were children. They needed help. But in the end, for whatever poor reason, he did protect me. So I think I can still play basketball with him.”_ _

__Akashi wasn't sure what he was hearing. “You think that because he protected you, his basketball is acceptable?” Tetsuya stood and picked up a clean shirt._ _

__“No. I do not like Haizaki's basketball, but I acknowledge its power. And I know Akashi-kun does as well.” Akashi watched him do up the buttons, not sure what to say, not sure if there was anything _worth _saying. Tetsuya knew that, when it came to his players, Akashi was concerned with victory more than kindness or loyalty. He knew that he wouldn't get Haizaki kicked off the team, just because he hadn't actually laid a hand on Tetsuya himself. Akashi wasn't sure if Tetsuya was offering acceptance of this fact or forgiveness for Akashi, and he couldn't quite convince himself that he didn't care which.___ _

____He stood as well, packed away the first aid box, picked up his bag. He was resigned to go, to leave Tetsuya without any false reassurances or excuses that would obscure the hard truth of his motives, but he was stopped short._ _ _ _

____“Akashi-kun, I would like to make a request.” The phantom player stood facing Akashi, this time with one of the select expressions the captain had known him to wear: the single crease of a frown between eyes hard like crystal. “Please do not ask me to miss practice,” he said, his words far more firm than requests usually warrant._ _ _ _

____This was Tetsuya determined. This was Tetsuya standing up to Atsushi when he bad-mouthed hard work. This was Tetsuya showing that no matter how peaceable he was in nature, he wasn't naïve and he wasn't a pushover._ _ _ _

____He was willing to share responsibility for Akashi's choice to keep him on a team with the sadist who'd let him get hurt._ _ _ _

____Akashi considered for a moment. “I will allow it. But if I think your injury has worsened, I will get you pulled out. Take care you don't force me to.” Tetsuya nodded slowly, the frown vanishing into one of his other favored expressions: a petal-soft smile._ _ _ _

____“Thank you, Akashi-kun.”_ _ _ _

____Tetsuya, as it happened, did not miss practice. Akashi did not particularly enjoy every instance his sharp eyes caught a fleeting look of discomfort on his face, but he endured them just as quietly._ _ _ _

____As for Haizaki, if, when Akashi stood telling him as his new captain that he should quit, he once again felt his heart touched with with ice and fire, remembering Tetsuya's quiet resilience, who would ever know?_ _ _ _

_______________________________________________________________________________________________ _ _ _

____Later, when the other four had become dragons and Akashi was the emperor holding their reins, he would forget that he had once cared when Tetsuya's well-being was sacrificed for his victory._ _ _ _

____When Tetsuya slipped his own lead and disappeared, Akashi would forget his understated tenacity, and assume him alone and powerless._ _ _ _

____And by the time Akashi began to train a new phantom, preparing to nullify Tetsuya, to well and truly erase him, he hardly thought of him as being anything at all._ _ _ _


	2. Chapter 2

Kise had considered it a win when he scored the cot next to Kuroko-cchi's. The Teiko training camp was supposed to be truly brutal, and he didn't want to face sore muscles and possible near-death experiences on top of a lack of sleep. It wasn't that he woke up easily, but he had trouble getting to sleep if there was anything nearby to annoy him, like serial snorers. When loudly voicing this complaint, Aomine-cchi had just laughed.

“You should stick close to Tetsu. He sleeps like the dead, like, a literal corpse.”

“He woke up quite easily when you screamed,” Midorima-cchi had said scornfully.

“You were very loud,” Kuroko-cchi had agreed.

“You didn't even look like you were breathing! It was creepy, okay?”

So it ended up that Kise would sleep furthest from everyone with Kuroko-cchi as his one neighbor. Aomine-cchi was still pretty close on his shadow's other side, but the ace had sworn that if he ever snored Kise was free to hit him until he stopped.

The first few nights had gone smoothly. After each torturously grueling day, Kise would fall asleep as though he'd been leveled by a truck. Kuroko-cchi lived up to his reputation, sleeping without a sound, sometimes on his side, sometimes on his back, always perfectly still.

One night, Kise had noticed a small change: Kuroko-cchi was making a slight raspy noise as he breathed. He'd figured that he was just positioned funny or something, but by the next night, Kise found himself far more awake than he wanted to be, listening to Kuroko-cchi cough in his sleep. 

Despite being highly annoyed, he felt rather bad for his previous mentor. Kise had respected Kuroko-cchi ever since he'd witnessed the value of his play, but he knew the passing expert had to struggle to keep up with the physical demands of practice. Kise grimaced up at the dark ceiling. If practice made _him _feel like his lungs and muscles were ablaze, he could only guess how Kuroko-cchi kept up in that weak body of his. If he was getting sick, there was no way he'd be able to finish the last few days of camp.__

____

But the next morning, Kuroko-cchi was up and about with the rest of them, and appeared to be completely normal—aside from his atrocious bedhead. The slightly haggard Kise was too puzzled by this development to mention his sleeping trouble. It wasn't until halfway through morning practice that he caught a muffled noise over his shoulder and turned to see Kuroko-cchi hiding his cough behind one of his sweatbands. After that, Kise kept catching snatches of it everywhere, but since he rarely knew where the phantom player was, it was something like having a fly suddenly buzz in his ear every few minutes. By the time they stopped to break for lunch, Kise was almost as irritated by it as he had been trying to sleep.

____

As such, Kise marched up to him and demanded, “Kuroko-cchi, why are you coughing so much? It's annoying!” The teal-headed boy glanced up at him, then looked at the retreating backs of the rest of the players to see if they'd heard. Kise sighed, and reluctantly lowered his voice. “If you're sick you shouldn't play,” he said matter-of-factly, crossing his arms to make himself look more firm. Kuroko-cchi blinked up at him innocently.

____

“I am not sick, Kise-kun.”

____

“You are so!” Kise sputtered. “I heard you last night and all practice this morning!”

____

“It's only a cough.”

____

“Sick people cough!” Then Kise had an idea. “If you don't agree, I'll tell Akashi-cchi on you.”

____

“Akashi-kun knows already.” This took Kise by surprise; he was terrified (in the best way) of their captain, and he'd assumed the strategic leader would be nothing less that outraged at one of his players attempting to play while ill.

____

“He does?” 

____

Kuroko-cchi nodded sincerely. “I've had a cold recently, but I was just getting over it before camp. I told Akashi I was only having trouble shaking the cough, and he agreed that I could play.”

____

Kise liked this answer even less. “You mean you've been like this the whole time?”

____

“Kise-kun, please don't worry. If I feel too unwell, I'll stop. Besides, nothing escapes Akashi-kun's notice, and I trust his judgment.” He waited a moment to see if Kise would continue to argue, then followed the rest of the team when he didn't, probably missing when the blond muttered under his breath.

____

“What about my sleep then?” But tomorrow was the last full day of practice anyway; after that was a half-day before they left for home. Surely Kuroko-cchi would be fine until then.

____

Still, later that day when Kise had a moment standing next to Akashi-cchi, watching a drill while waiting to rotate in, he gestured at Kuroko-cchi and said, as though he had just noticed, “Has Kuroko-cchi been coughing like that the whole time?”

____

Akashi-cchi had the same clearness of gaze that Kuroko-cchi had, but his was now heavy with disinterest. “No, only the past two days.” This piece of information had Kise ready to suggest that Kuroko-cchi be taken out of practice, but the coolness of Akashi-cchi's tone, almost pointedly unconcerned, made him reconsider. Instead, he did his best to ignore Kuroko-cchi and let him fade back into invisibility while he focused on his own play.

____

That night Kise was too busy worrying to be bothered by Kuroko-cchi's noise at first. While the rest of the players dropped off with ease, Kise could tell even with his back turned that Kuroko-cchi was still awake by the fact that his coughs were being deliberately muffled in his pillow. After perhaps an hour of this, Kise heard a hoarse sigh, then a rustle of covers as the shadow got up and padded out of the room. The resulting quiet lulled Kise under before he had a chance to properly wonder whether Kuroko-cchi was coming back to bed.

____

The next day, Kuroko-cchi was coughing before practice even started, and it only went downhill from there. Kise frowned with anxiety, but, glancing at Akashi-cchi, he knew that he had essentially given up his right to call out Kuroko-cchi when he'd ceded to his and the captain's judgment. 

____

Aomine-cchi was the next to notice, voicing concern that his shadow dismissed immediately. Soon everyone on the court started sending confused glances at Kuroko-cchi, and Akashi-cchi as well. Clearly they expected, as Kise had, that their captain would be sending the sixth man straight off the court...but he didn't. And since they were all middle school boys, there was only so much worrying without action they could stomach. By mid-afternoon, no one but Kise—and perhaps Aomine-cchi—was even thinking about Kuroko-cchi anymore.

____

Finally, only an hour before they would have been done for the day, Kuroko-cchi approached the captain. Akashi-cchi lifted his hand to summon Kise. As the blond jogged over, he caught the tail end of what he was saying to the phantom player.

____

“...concerned. Your performance was quite adequate.” Kuroko-cchi's heavy breathing hitched for what must have been the millionth time that day, so he simply nodded. The redhead then turned to Kise. “Tetsuya is not well enough to play anymore. Take him back to the room.”

____

Kise cocked his head and pointed at himself. “Me?” Akashi-cchi's eyes viewed him dispassionately.

____

“You would only be distracted here, Ryota. As you have been all day.” There was an edge of reproach in his voice that had Kise flinching back.

____

“Of course, Akashi-cchi.”

____

Kise could sense at least a dozen pairs of eyes on the two of them as they left, and imagined most of them were relieved. He trailed Kuroko-cchi in awkward silence to the showers, then back out of them again. His coughs were deep in his chest now, and he seemed to be concentrating hard on keeping his breathes from catching. When Kise asked him if he was going to get something to eat he just shook his head without a word and headed for their room. It was when they got there that Kise finally found his nerve.

____

“Are you okay?” he lead with tentatively. Kuroko-cchi looked back at him and nodded, but his shoulders shook as another bout came on. Kise chewed his lip until it was over. “I still don't think you should have played, Kuroko-cchi,” he said quietly. “If you hadn't you wouldn't be so sick.”

____

“That's why I did play.”

____

“That doesn't make any sense!” Kise protested.

____

“If I hadn't come I would be at home right now, not playing even though I was perfectly well. I would not have enjoyed that.” He turned around and knelt beside his bag, rummaging for something while Kise pouted.

____

“You'd play basketball even if it killed you,” he muttered sourly. Kuroko-cchi appeared to ignore him, but then replied:

____

“I know.” Kise cocked his head at him, but Kuroko-cchi didn't turn around. “I do love basketball more than anything. But that's not why I did what I did.”

____

“What else is there?” Kise demanded. The shorter player looked back at him.

____

“This was your first training camp, Kise-kun. And you're a starter now as well. I wanted to be here for that.”

____

Kise opened his mouth without knowing what to say. Kuroko-cchi turned away again, as though not conscious of the weight of what he was saying.

____

“I know the whole point of my basketball is that I'm invisible, and I know people often don't see me off the court either. But just because they don't notice I'm there doesn't mean that I shouldn't be.”

____

His neutrally-toned words had Kise feeling a bit staggered. He saw in a different light why Kuroko-cchi had worked so hard, been so committed despite the fact that he could have—maybe even should have—opted out: not because he was stubborn, lacked judgement, felt ashamed or obligated, but because...

____

“You valued the team,” Kise said quietly. By now Kuroko-cchi was just sitting on the floor, legs crossed. His exhaustion was clear, but he smiled just a bit.

____

“Everyone comes the camp to work hard and give their all side-by-side with their teammates. That's too valuable to miss, even if...” His smile faded like breath on a mirror. “Even if it hurts a bit.”

____

Kise got the distinct impression that he meant something more than just getting ill, but he couldn't puzzle it out and Kuroko-cchi looked too close to falling asleep right then and there for him to ask. But as he left the room with the phantom player safely under the covers, his respect had grown to another dimension. He laughed once to himself; Kuroko-cchi, without realizing it, had long ago gotten Kise to respect him against his will, and now here Kise was, once again forced to admit his regard for the sixth man. Kuroko-cchi may fill a niche on the court, and fill it well, but Kise was warmed by his determination to remain loyal to his team, to work hard not just for his position on a court, but for his position as a friend.

____

And Kise was honored to be one of his.

____

_____________________________________________________________________________________

____

Later, when Kise was caught up in the swell of his own power, he would forget that the team was something to sacrifice for.

____

When he would visit Seirin High, he would have forgotten the strength and value of Kuroko-cchi's loyalty, and assume him easily separated from these underwhelming players.

____

And when he would face them down for the practice match, smirk in place, he would have forgotten that Kuroko-cchi could be a person, a friend. To Kise, he was nothing more than the phantom.

____


	3. Chapter 3

Aomine was boiling mad.

To him, Tetsu had only started hacking his lungs out that day, so when he left the court with Kise, Aomine had been sympathetic, but not particularly worried. The rest of the team appeared to share the feeling, as they all seemed to relax and play more enthusiastically, leading to a very satisfying last hour of practice before they all headed to where they were staying. Aomine had gone looking for Kise to find out if he was eating with them or if he'd already had dinner, and found him absolutely fretful. Aomine had laughed.

“Kise, what are you, his mother? Tetsu will be fine. He was lucky to catch cold when camp's almost over.” But then Kise had narrowed his eyes at him in that serious way he so rarely did, and Aomine's smile had faded reluctantly from his lips as Kise told him everything.

Seething, he'd been on his way back to the dining room when he'd encountered the object of his wrath.

“What are you doing here, Akashi?” he growled.

The captain's calm gaze promised that he detected the insubordination, but that he could just as easily dismiss it.

“I wanted to see that Testuya was properly resting.”

“Isn't it a little late for that?” Aomine was trying to keep a rein on himself—a full on outburst toward Akashi would be nothing short of treason—but his teeth were grinding.

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Daiki.”

“You knew Tetsu was sick,” he accused, already hearing his voice beginning to rise. “Before camp you knew and you still made him play!”

“I did not force Tetsuya. I merely let him do as he wished.”

“You know that's not true. You told him he could come, you _expected _him to come, and we both know Tetsu would rather catch pneumonia than fail to meet your expectations.” Akashi's red eyes only became more self-assured, and it occurred to Aomine that maybe he shouldn't have alluded to Akashi's power over Tetsu, the one that Akashi had discovered on the fringes, the one he'd pulled from the edge of failure and made exceptional. If Akashi cherished victory above all else, he considered Tetsu to be one of his finest, and it unnerved Aomine just how close that fondness came to ownership.__

____

“On the contrary,” the captain said smoothly. “This was not about my wishes. I simply respect Tetsuya too much to give him preferential treatment. I thought you would understand that, knowing as you do just how hard he's worked to overcome his limitations.”

____

“Being sick isn't a limitation to overcome!” Aomine protested even louder.

____

“Isn't it?” Taken aback, Aomine only blinked in confusion as Akashi went on. “I don't suppose you'd know, Daiki; you could probably get sick for a month and come back in fine form. But for Tetsuya, it's never safe to give anything less than all he has—and perhaps a bit more. If he believes that, who am I to stop him?” Akashi said this almost innocently, as though both of them didn't know that he could put a stop to whatever he wanted. “Make no mistake: it would have been beneath Tetsuya to ask to attend a game or practice he didn't need to. He's not that petulant. But I agreed with him that training camp is valuable, and that he should not miss it without greatest need.”

____

“But when he started to feel ill--”

____

“And haven't you seen him get ill before?” Akashi cut him off. “You've seen Testuya vomit into the bushes haven't you? He's recovered then, and he'll recover now. His cough won't kill him, and it's not an injury that will affect his future play or require a long time to heal. As far as I'm concerned, he accomplished his goal with little consequence.”

____

Aomine stood in a kind of horrified awe at Akashi's cold logic. There again was that uncanny sense of complete infallibility that he projected, making it nearly impossible to consider him incorrect.

____

Akashi walked passed him, and it was when he was finally released from his stare that Aomine found his tongue.

____

“Tetsu loves basketball.” He turned, watching Akashi's back. “It shouldn't be the thing that hurts him.” Akashi glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes were fire-bright.

____

“Why not?” he shot back. “I say if you truly love something, you should be ready to suffer for it if you have to.”

____

For the rest of the evening food was eaten heartily, hot bathes were enjoyed, and vending machines were depleted before the team turned in for the night. The coach had secured a small private room for Tetsu, and Aomine had volunteered to be the one to stay with him just to be safe. He lay there in the dark for a while, propped up on his elbow and staring at the outline of his partner, wondering how this had happened.

____

He'd noticed Akashi's change over the past months, how his quiet ruthlessness had only grown. Since the redhead always aimed it at the opposition or insubordinate players, Aomine had always seen it as a strength. But to see him turn it on Tetsu...Tetsu, who wasn't an opponent or a rebel, who was passionate about the sport, hard-working for his team, dedicated to his prescribed role. Those words floated through his head again: “If you truly love something, you should be ready to suffer for it if you have to.”

____

“Yeah, but...” he whispered to himself as he lay down on his back. “He _shouldn't _have to.”__

____

____

____

He drifted off to the unpleasant sound of Tetsu's ragged breathing...

____

____

____

...and woke up to something far worse.

____

____

____

At first he though the hand clutching his arm was Kise upset about his snoring again, but as he came awake the ghostly face of Tetsu hovered beside him, his eyes wide, mouth open and not a whisper of breath issuing from it. A bare instant before panic could hit Aomine, Tetsu's chest spasmed in a tight series of cough-gasp-cough, before it locked up again. 

____

____

____

Aomine lurched upright and seized Tetsu's shoulders. “Tetsu!” he shouted, already kicking himself for yelling. He pushed the fear back, trying to clear his head. “Tetsu,” he said, gentler now but shaking with urgency. “It's okay, Tetsu, you've just gotta breathe, okay?” He wrapped his arms around the trembling figure and pulled him back until his head was against his chest. He looked down at Tetsu's face, still painted with fright as his lungs squeezed against his attempts to inflate them. Aomine fought to keep his voice steady.

____

____

____

“Easy, Tetsu. Just relax, alright? You know how to breathe, now just do it.” The slim body slowly went slack against him, his eyes sliding closed. Even if he had just instructed it, it made Aomine's heart pound to see him go limp.

____

____

____

Tetsu took a breath—a forced, deliberate attempt—but it was immediately interrupted by another fit. Still, Aomine encouraged him quietly. “Just like that. Keep at it. You're okay. I've got you.” Tetsu's hand was on his arm again, and tightened at his words as though to reassure him, which had Aomine letting out a sharp, humorless laugh before he could catch it.

____

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After long, painful minutes, Tetsu was taking shallow but even breaths. His eyes here half-lidded with exhaustion, and with his own eyes adjusted Aomine could detect hectic splotches of pink high on his cheeks. “Right. A fever's just what you need,” he grumbled, touching a hand to Tetsu's forehead, unsurprised to find it burning up. “No wonder your hands are like ice.” He eased Tetsu back down, who stared blearily up at him in question.

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“I'm going to go get some help, okay? Just...keep it up.”

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Aomine barreled out of the room and into the one where the others were sleeping. He rushed to a particular cot, knowing the one person he didn't want to go to was his wisest option.

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“Akashi. Akashi!” he said insistently, not bothering to lower his voice. The captain's eyes blinked open and were immediately clear. Aomine didn't wait for him to speak. “It's Tetsu, he's having trouble breathing.” To his credit, Akashi radiated nothing but calm urgency as he tossed back his blanket and was out the door in an instant. Some of the other players woke from the noise, and in the hall Kise appeared stumbling after them. 

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“Is Kuroko-cchi okay?” he asked, but Aomine ignored him and entered Tetsu's room. Akashi had knelt beside Tetsu, who did nothing to acknowledge him, still focused on dragging air into his lungs. Kise appeared behind Aomine with a horrified gasp.

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“Tetsuya,” Akashi said. “Can you look at me, please?” When the phantom player obeyed, Akashi went on. “Do you need us to call the hospital?” Tetsu, as expected, shook his head. Aomine had half of an obscenity out of his mouth before Akashi cut him off.

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“I think if you want to convince me you have to at least be able to say it aloud.” Tetsu swallowed, then spoke in a voice like he'd been choking down sawdust.

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“No...Akashi-kun.” Akashi lifted an eyebrow.

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“Well, that's one opinion.” He stood up and was quickly replaced by Kise hovering worriedly over the sick player. Aomine walked over to Akashi, who was fishing through Tetsu's things.

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“He needs a doctor.” Akashi pulled out Tetsu's cell phone and flipped it open.

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“Of course he does,” the captain replied easily, scrolling through the phone's contact list. “The question is with what urgency.” He pressed the call button and walked out of the room, holding the phone to his ear.

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“What are you doing?”

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“Calling his parents,” Akashi said over his shoulder, then slid the door closed. Aomine couldn't find a reason to object to that, so he dug around in his own bag and found an unopened water bottle. He sat down on Tetsu's other side so he and Kise could help him sit up as he carefully drank. Aomine couldn't help but note the peculiar look on Tetsu's face. Despite being flushed and tired, he somehow still seemed composed, lacking the usual self-centered misery of someone ill. He handed the water back and let out a wheezing sigh.

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“Thank you, Aomi--” Aomine had to suppress a growl of frustration as Tetsu began to cough anew, hard and fast and gasping. Kise looked alarmed, but carefully maintained support of Tetsu, helping him lay down again when it was over. Akashi reentered.

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“His father will be here in an hour,” he said crisply. His eyes reached past him to settle on the phantom's player's face. “An ambulance ride would be an undue stress for Tetsuya in his present condition, particularly without someone legally able to answer for him at the hospital.” He opened the door and stepped out. “I shall inform the others.”

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Aomine dozed while Kise kept watch. It was difficult to tell whether Tetsu was asleep or just too tired to keep his eyes open, but either way he would start every so often and cough up a storm. Now that Tetsu had confirmed that he could, in fact, speak, he did so after every bout.

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“I'm sorry.”

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“Kise-kun, don't worry.”

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“I'm alright.”

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“I'm okay, Aomine-kun.”

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“I'll be fine.”

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Aomine wanted to punch something every time Tetsu attempted reassurances for their benefit in that weak whisper of a voice, with those eyes that insisted on communicating nothing but calm.

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It hadn't been quite an hour when they heard voices coming down the hall and Akashi and Tetsu's father entered the room. Aomine couldn't remember if he'd ever met Tetsu's dad before, but he figured he would have recalled if he had. He looked a great deal like his son, except Kuroko-san's pale blue hair was shorter and more tame, and his eyes had a not-unkind sharpness to them. But despite looking so much like him, Kuroko-san had a strong, warm presence, as though you didn't have to look at him—you just wanted to.

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Without pausing, he strode into the room and went down on one knee next to Aomine, taking Tetsu's hand and squeezing it.

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“Tetsuya?” Tetsu's eyes opened, and he gave a shaky smile.

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“Otou-san...”

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“Do you have all you're belongings?”

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“Hai...” Kuroko-san lay the back of his hand on Tetsu's forehead.

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“Would one of you please take his bag to the car?” he asked without looking up. Akashi gestured to Kise, who scurried to obey. “What's your name?” Kuroko-san asked next.

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“Aomine Daiki.”

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“I thought as much,” Kuroko-san said, looking him up and down. “If you'll grant me a favor then, I need you to ride with us.”

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“I, um—uh-”

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“Just to the nearest hospital. I can't keep an eye on Tetsuya and drive at the same time. Is there something else that you need to be doing?”

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Coming from anyone else the question would have been pointed: _Is your little game more important to you? _But there were no hidden daggers in Kuroko-san's voice.__

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“N-no, I can do that.” Kuroko-san nodded.

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“Thank you. My son does speak of you fondly.” Kuroko-san bent over his son and drew the blanket back. Tetsu gave a tremendous shiver and coughed until it sounded like his ribs would crack. Kuroko-san gently smoothed the hair back from his son's forehead. “Tetsuya?” he asked quietly. 

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“Itai...” Tetsu breathed, and this time Aomine saw it: a flash of please-make-it-stop in Tetsu's eyes. He hadn't realized how gutting it would be.

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Kuroko-san's face was soft as cotton as he slid a hand beneath Tetsu's shoulders, then reached his other hand under his legs and stood smoothly, cradling Tetsu against his chest with surprising ease. Aomine followed them out of the room with Akashi looking on, expression inscrutable.

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The ride to the hospital was short, and quiet save for Tetsu, who lay across the back seat with his head in Aomine's lap, wrapped in a blanket his father had brought. Aomine had reached his limit with his more tender emotions, and so avoided looking at him. But he now knew one thing:

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Akashi was right, and yet not about this. Basketball could hurt, but it should never hurt like this. Maybe as Tetsu's innocent mistake, but not as Akashi's conscious decision.

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Aomine promised to himself that he would never let a sport hurt Tetsu in ways it had no right to.

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Later, when Aomine bloomed into an oncoming storm, he would break Tetsu's partnership as though it were collateral damage.

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When Aomine grew drunk and listless with that power, he would swat Tetsu aside as though his play, his passion, and his friendship were annoyances.

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When Tetsu confronted him with Seirin, begging Aomine to just care again, about—what? His opponent? His team? Basketball? Tetsu himself? It didn't matter: Aomine crushed Tetsu and his basketball and walked away without a thought.

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Later, Aomine didn't just forget his promise not to let basketball hurt Tetsu.

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He did the hurting himself.

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	4. Chapter 4

Midorima didn't like Kuroko.

He blamed it on their blood types, their signs, on anything that could explain why he felt so prickly around him. With such an excuse in place, he could safely hold Kuroko's ability as a player in neither derision nor regard without having to look too closely at it—which was about the approach he took toward the entirely of Kuroko's person, something easily facilitated by Kuroko's natural ability to simply not be there even when he was.

For example, as he was now walking down the street with said player, he could employ his usual strategy of pretending to be alone and almost believe it. That is, if it weren't for the purple-haired player lumbering into his view, crunching loudly on chips. He would have been annoyed—well, he was annoyed—but it would have been more justified if he hadn't been the one “third-wheeling,” to borrow a phrase.

Though Midorima did not care for Kuroko, he was still an observant person, and, thus, could hardly fail to have noticed Kuroko's growing moroseness. Akashi had long ago hardened into his role as absolute captain, shifting to that “other” Akashi that Midorima disliked but followed with just as much loyalty. And the team, under his rule and made up of such players as himself, had evolved into something harsh and unforgiving in its thirst for victory. This rather suited Midorima, who had already discovered his own remarkable talent, but had hit the more idealistic Kuroko rather hard. Aomine had begun to thrive at such an astounding rate that he now earned Midorima's scorn for skipping practice, and Kuroko, his partner, found himself being left behind.

It was difficult for Midorima to sympathize. Midorima had exercised teamwork early on at Teiko, an easy feat due to the superior power of the team. But now, even he as an individual was so precise and reliable that he didn't feel the need for trust, and the others were so powerful in their own rights that they didn't care if he didn't trust them.

All the others, that is, except for Kuroko, who not only needed to give trust but also receive it for his basketball to function properly.

With so many emotional blows coming at Kuroko from basketball, it was unsurprising that he was seeking the company of Murasakibara. The giant had also become a lethargic and inattentive player, but he and Kuroko had never agreed about basketball in the first place, and still managed to get on outside a sports context. Midorima didn't know where they were going, although food was undoubtedly involved, but they had left school at the same time as him and been going in the same direction. An unfortunate development.

But the thing about Midorima, the thing he would never admit aloud, was that, strictly speaking, it was impossible for him not to care. Not to express it? Certainly. Not to acknowledge it? Absolutely. Yet, as a human being, there was no way (short of becoming a psychopath) for him to actually eliminate it, which meant that when a suitably dramatic event prompted its release, Midorima found his mind—and, more troublesomely, his heart—executing a most inelegant U-turn.

Such a trigger was about to take place in the next few seconds. And Midorima, who had just been musing about how his complete incompatibility with Kuroko made it possible to disregard him emotionally, would suddenly find the phantom player at the center of a great deal of concern. It was highly embarrassing.

What happened was this: The signal for the crosswalk began to blink. Midorima continued across, certain he would have enough time, and Kuroko followed just behind him. But Murasakibara, childish as he was, hadn't even bothered to look up; being built like a tank, he could probably have swatted the cars out of his way if he had to. He shuffled along, head down, engrossed in unwrapping a candy. Midorima reached the sidewalk, but Kuroko paused and turned back toward the giant.

“Murasakibara-kun, please hurr-”

Kuroko pitched forward; another pedestrian, cutting it even closer on the crossing, had brushed past Midorima and rushed across the street, his hurried mind primed to completely miss the easily-missed Kuroko. He slammed hard into Kuroko's shoulder and sent him sprawling. That got Murasakibara's attention, who stepped back off the crosswalk to grab at the man's arm.

“Oi!” he yelled, “Watch it!” Kuroko was getting to his knees, probably about to intercede, and Midorima, ready to escape their company, was turning to go.

And then the car jerked forward and hit Kuroko with a dull thunk.

Just like that, Midorima forgot his apathy. He sprinted back into the street to where Kuroko lay on the asphalt. “Kuroko!” The phantom player's entire body was rigid, his breath hissing through clenched teeth as he clutched his arm.

In his periphery, Midorima saw that the driver had jumped out of his car, but was standing behind his open door, looking on at the scene and obviously wishing not to be part of it. On the sidewalk, Murasakibara turned a murderous look on the pedestrian.

“Look what you did!” he roared at him. The man shrank back, probably expecting him to throw a punch, but the giant whirled away and joined Midorima.

Kuroko managed to pry his jaw open and gasp out, “I'm okay, I'm okay, it's just my, my arm.” 

Midorima swallowed hard. “Keep it still,” he said roughly. “We'll get you help.”

“There's a hospital just that way.” Midorima looked up sharply to see the pedestrian with a severely repentant expression on his face. He pointed. “It's two blocks over, you can see it from the corner--”

Murasakibara needed no further urging. With a look equal parts ire and determination, he snatched up Kuroko like he weighed nothing and started off at a fast clip, parting the small crowd of onlookers like a shark through a school of fish.

Midorima wasn't sure if this was the correct action to take, but he was still in shock, replaying in his mind the sound the car had made on impact.

Then he shook himself, and got to work.

He took down the pedestrian's name, number, address, then those of the driver, then the license, make, model, and color of his car, just in case he was lying about his identity and needed to be tracked down that way. Midorima didn't think he was, though; the man was shaken, and kept apologizing over and over. “I didn't see him, I just didn't see him...” 

Midorima wasn't surprised. A driver waiting at a light would hardly have been very attentive, and Kuroko's fall would have slipped his notice easily, Kuroko being as invisible as he was. The man would have looked up, seen a green light and an empty crosswalk, and taken his foot off the brake. It was at least good fortune that he hadn't been in as much of a hurry as the pedestrian, or he would have hit the gas harder and...Midorima caught a swell of fear behind clenched teeth, and choked it back down.

Midorima called the police, gave them the address of the hospital as well as his and Kuroko's names, then snapped his phone shut and set out.

Midorima was not given to worry. Or, perhaps he was, and so was better equipped than anyone to deal with it effectively. Others were content to “do their best” and leave that gap between effort and results to fate. Midorima went that step further, reaching his control out toward fate, mapping it out and making allowances for its dips and turns. How would it be logical to worry, then, if he had done all that he could to ensure a favorable outcome?

But he thought of the possibility of Kuroko with a broken arm, a plaster cast, weeks off the court. There was nothing about that he could control. Frankly, controlling it wasn't his business, but if anyone had an objective view of Kuroko's position, it was Midorima, who was distant and clear-headed enough to see what was happening.

As a results-driven person, Midorima had been frosty toward Kuroko at the beginning. While Aomine had been moved by his effort, and Akashi intrigued by his potential, Midorima had only seen what Kuroko had not done—made anything higher than third string, participated in a game, even improved for goodness sake—and been compelled to dismiss him. However, this meant that Midorima had been equally quick to accept Kuroko once he revealed his phantom ability on the court. It was as simple as the results he produced.

Though Midorima still professed a lack of emotional attachment to the phantom player, he saw with some measure of regret the unfortunate position he'd been put in. Kuroko had continued producing those same game-changing results that Akashi had once imagined in a sixth man, and by all rights should have continued receiving his due reward for them. Had he been on a normal or even exceptional team, he would have. However, he had ended up placed with five team members, including Midorima himself, who produced results beyond what should ever have been possible for a middle school basketball team.

There was simply nothing to be done about it.

Which was why Midorima continued to remain steadfastly neutral about the situation. But that whole caring thing still came up, especially at a moment like this. For an injury to force Kuroko to lose even more ground on a team already splitting apart beneath him...it might be what drove him to finally quit. Perhaps that was for the best, but still, Kuroko's play would be a loss, even if it wasn't a dangerous one.

Midorima drew in a breath and let it out slowly. It didn't matter, he told himself. In a few hours, Kuroko would be pronounced fine, his injuries taken care of. Midorima's heart would stop squeezing so hard and he could go back to not thinking about him. He only thought about things he could control. The things he could trust.

And the only thing he could trust was himself.

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In the end, Midorima would forget the most leading up to the nationals, and the least after them. He would remember the hard facts: that Kuroko was exceptional at his role, had remained so right up until the end, and never thrived more than when his team utilized his skills—something of which Midorima didn't think Seirin was capable. But ever since he'd met Kuroko, he'd been carefully tuning out how the phantom suffered when the his efforts were fruitless, or his friendships were crumbling, or his ideals were trampled underfoot.

After the final, when Kuroko disappeared for good, Midorima would move on to Shutoku, finally free to erase his care for Kuroko completely from his mind.


	5. Chapter 5

Murasakibara liked Kuro-chin.

He didn't like him the way most people liked their friends. Most guys liked people by doing stuff with them or talking to them or practicing with them. Murasakibara's version of liking usually involved nothing more troublesome that mutual existence, and Kuro-chin was better suited to that than the others, with Kise-chin always wanting to _do _something, Aka-chin telling him _what _to do, Mido-chin _mad _about something he had or hadn't done, and Mine-chin unable to get his head out of _basketball _for more than three seconds. Meanwhile, Kuro-chin's barely-there presence meant he rarely tried to influence the action—or inaction—of those around him, so he and Murasakibara could drift along together in a kind of shared contentment, him with a vanilla shake and Murasakibara with a sack of snacks. Being so like a child, Murasakibara liked him the way a kid likes that one relative that lets them do whatever they want—and gives them sweets.________

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The only obstacle was basketball, where Kuro-chin wouldn't put up with his opinion of hard work. The mere existence of Kuro-chin as his teammate should have been testament to the value of hard work over talent, but the giant preferred to think that Kuro-chin's ghosty-ness had been his shortcut, just as his own massive build was his. It irritated Murasakibara to hear the opposite claimed, and his childish temper meant it took only light prodding for him to entirely forget Kuro-chin's good points and want to crush him. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that, at the very least, Kuro-chin never tried to convince him that _he _needed to work hard, though whether that was because Kuro-chin knew he was a lost cause or because he knew he would end up flattened for his trouble was beyond Murasakibara.__

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And, to the chagrin of Kuro-chin, Murasakibara also kinda liked him as a toy, manhandling him, petting his hair, and generally enjoying his petite size and not-at-all-threatening demeanor as everything a toy should be: small, cute, and, most importantly, his.

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So it was no surprise to anyone that his reaction to Kuro-cin's injury was no small amount of personal offense, closely followed by rage. In fact, as he stomped down the sidewalk with Kuro-chin, he couldn't help but feel irate that he hadn't had the chance to really give it to that guy—no, those two guys: that jerk in a hurry and that idiot driver. Morons, both of them.

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“Murasakibara-kun.” The giant glanced down at his passenger, noting his exasperated, if pained, expression, and pretended not to recognize the familiar tone.

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“You sound funny, Kuro-chin, gritting your teeth like that.”

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Kuro-chin didn't deign to acknowledge the comment. “Murasakibara-kun, you can put me down. It's just my arm. I can walk fine.”

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“Don't want to,” Murasakibara drawled. “You're too slow.”

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“You're making a scene,” Kuro-chin said, annoyance barely concealed. “People are staring.”

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Murasakibara noted for the first time that there were, in fact, people around them and that they were, in fact, staring. His only reaction was to glower at them and hold Kuro-chin tighter, minding his arm.

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“Mido-chin said not to move it, and arms move when you walk.” With that infallible argument, Murasakibara sped up, motivated by the hurt Kuro-chin had failed to mask, both in his voice and in the rigid trembling of his shoulders. His goal was in sight now: the small but easily visible clinic just a few blocks down. He wasn't sure what would happen when he got there, but when he marched Kuro-chin through those doors they'd better fix him.

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What actually happened failed to meet Murasakibara's expectations. Kuro-chin managed to trickily slip his feather-like weight out of his arms and walk through the door on his own two feet. Then, once Murasakibara had forced the person at the front desk to notice Kuro-chin, the phantom haltingly explained the incident. Murasakibara seethed as they asked questions that seemed designed to make Kuro-chin's injury sound insignificant, then they were told to wait.

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Wait? They wanted Kuro-chin to just wait? He managed to restrain himself from throwing a tantrum, partly because he wasn't stupid enough to mess with adults, and partly because Kuro-chin was looking more and more fragile as he clenched his teeth harder and cradled his arm more tenderly every minute that passed. So instead Murasakibara slouched in the chair next to him, angrily taking up space and thinking how they shouldn't be in these dumb plastic chairs, and the doctors shouldn't be with 'other patients,' and that driver shouldn't have taken his eyes off the road, and that man shouldn't have been in such an all-fire hurry and Kuro-chin _shouldn't have gotten hurt. ___

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It wasn't until Mido-chin arrived that the giant's ire started to simmer down into a kind of aggressive concern for Kuro-chin, a blend of selfish worry and genuine care. Mido-chin made short work of the people at the front desk; he may not have as big a name as Aka-chin, but it was enough to get their attention, not to mention that his father was a renowned doctor (“Not here in this poor excuse for a medical institution,” Mido-chin had said disdainfully when asked). 

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By the time Kuro-chin made it to an examination room, Murasakibara was having a rather unpleasant thought. It stayed with him while he watched the nurse examine Kuro-chin's arm, which had swelled up against his sleeve and had to be cut free. And Murasakibara didn't click efficiently through his thoughts the way Mido-chin did; he stewed on them, slowly. He stayed in the room, rolling this thought over and over, while Mido-chin accompanied Kuro-chin to get an x-ray.

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Kuro-chin was weak. Murasakibara never thought this in an insulting way. To him, it was just a fact of life: Kuro-chin was physically weak. And it was Murasakibara's opinion that physically weak people should not do physically challenging things. Why not do something where you weren't limited, instead of putting in all that effort doing something only to barely succeed? When it came to basketball, Kuro-chin got a bit of a pass with his misdirection, but Murasakibara had never offered him any sympathy for how difficult practice was for him. If it was so hard, he should just give it up.

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But now there was a flaw in his position.

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Kuro-chin was hurt just walking across the street, something he should have had every right to do safely. But instead, he'd been shoved to the ground and hit by a car just because he was so small. Murasakibara thought the weak should just not do things they were bad at, but how was Kuro-chin supposed to “not do” normal life?

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“Kuro-chin...” The phantom player looked up from where he sat leaning back on the exam table, waiting for the results of the x-ray. His arm had been wrapped up and he'd been given a dose of pain medication which had him looking a bit less breakable.

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“Hai?” he replied.

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“How do you stand it?” the giant said, his words drawn out in their usual way. “Getting hurt all the time? Bullies...lung infections...accidents...” He scoffed, exhausted by the idea alone of being so easily hindered. Kuro-chin tilted his head thoughtfully to one side.

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“Just used to it, I guess. I would get hurt and sick all the time when I was little. When I was born my parents were even worried I'd die.”

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The giant snorted impatiently. “Well, Kuro-chin's alive now, so that's fine. But doesn't it ever make you mad?”

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The shadow shrugged his good arm. “Not really.” 

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Murasakibara frowned, irritated that this line of questioning wasn't getting him the answers he wanted. “But how?” he demanded. “Getting hurt is just like losing, and every idiot hates losing; it takes stuff away from you, and even if it doesn't, it's painful. And don't give me any crap about failure building character or whatever!” 

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He expected Kuro-chin to give him that signature look of his, where his eyes would get hard as diamonds, but they were still blank as he blinked at Murasakibara's outburst.

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“Murasakibara-kun's been strong his whole life,” he said. “You think it's the only way to be. That's why you get mad when other people aren't. But I know that a person can be both, and that sometimes they lose either way. So instead of getting mad, I just try my best to make up the difference.”

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Murasakibara squinted at him suspiciously. This reasoning of Kuro-chin's sounded dangerously close to contradicting his own philosophy. At one time Kuro-chin would have stared back stubbornly, daring the giant to scorn his position, but now, Murasakibara realized, he just looked tired. Resigned, even. It occurred to him that he'd been looking like that a lot lately. It had been a while—Just how long? he wondered—since he'd seen him smile.

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So he decided not to argue. Because it was too much effort, of course. And he didn't really know just what part of what Kuro-chin had said he disagreed with. And it might be rude to argue with someone who was injured anyway. And because Kuro-chin was that one relative he liked, and that special toy that was his favorite, and...

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And maybe it wasn't so difficult to understand that Kuro-chin worked hard because even when he didn't, even when he shouldn't have to, he could still lose.

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Murasakibara chewed the inside of his lip. “I guess that's good then...that you try, you know, 'cause...it would be a pain if you lost even more than you do.” Kuro-chin wearily lay his head back on the table and closed his eyes, unimpressed by the concession.

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“And...” Murasakibara added suddenly, prompting Kuro-chin to look at him again. “I would really hate to lose, too. You know...someone important.” He was determinedly not looking at Kuro-chin, but he thought he might have seen the faintest upward curl of the phantom's lips.

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The results of the x-ray were favorable: no fractures. With that information, Mido-chin took his leave, texting Aka-chin a full report as he walked off. Murasakibara followed Kuro-chin outside, bought him a candy while he waited for a bus, then left after he'd boarded. It was such an easy ending to what he'd thought was a catastrophe. Perhaps, if this was how gracefully Kuro-chin handled loss, it was no wonder he wasn't afraid if it.

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Murasakibara wondered if maybe he could learn to do that, too.

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Later, the giant would forget the strange power that weakness seemed to give Kuro-chin, and would grow to fear and despise failure so much he couldn't stand the people who fell victim to it—even as they did so at his hand.

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He would forget how closely he'd once favored Kuro-chin despite his fragile nature, and push away him and all players like him. Let them struggle and lose and cry. Served them right for choosing their battles poorly.

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He would forget that sometimes Kuro-chin didn't have a choice as to whether he'd fight or not, and he wouldn't understand how much it meant, when Kuro-chin faced him on the court, that this was a fight he did choose, and chose gladly.

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	6. Chapter 6

It was difficult to process all at once: that you had done something wrong; that your success was really your prison; that you hurt someone you valued; that that person had not only forgiven you already, but taken it upon himself to save you, and had done it by doing exactly what you had always thought utterly impossible by means you thought weak and worthless.

Where do you even begin with something like that?

Each one of the Generation of Miracles took the aftermath of their defeat differently: Kise took it quickly, Midorima reluctantly, Aomine somberly, and Murasakibara obstinately. But by those last moments of the Winter Cup, after watching Kuroko struggle so hard with everything Akashi threw at him—from defeating his teammates and techniques to declaring him obsolete and unforgivably average to personally wounding him with his disappointment—and seeing him leave all that behind by trusting all the more in his teammates, reclaiming misdirection as his own, and defeating Akashi's Emperor Eye and ultimately Akashi's absolute control by winning the game...

After that, every one of them knew. Akashi, in particular, knew it so well that he came back to himself in those moments. Their phantom may not have done it alone, but in the end, however it had been done and whoever he had done it with...

Kuroko had saved them all.

And if any of them had wondered what losing was like, there was no kinder introduction than the sight of a short, blue-haired boy, who took victory with the same grace he had once taken defeat, beaming with the bright smile he had once lost long ago at Teiko.

None of them were entirely sure what to do next, other than return to their schools, their gyms, their teams, and prepare to challenge each other once again. It seemed far too late and too little to apologize, especially with how Kuroko exuded not bitterness but simple joy at their return. But they did say thank you, in their own ways.

Kise said it by asking. Instead of grabbing and dragging, assuming Kuroko either needed him as a friend or would be a fool to reject him, he asked Kuroko what he wanted—even if he didn't always sweat the answers very much (Kise's enthusiasm was still impossible to curb).

_I know you're my friend, not my fan or my tool. I'll treat you as one, and do the same to my teammates, the way I should have done when you were one of them. ___

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Midorima said it by reminding. Anytime he could, he would put down the rest of the Miracles by mentioning with exact detail how Kuroko had beaten them (He generally left Akashi out of it, as per sane judgement). Even disguised as a insult, he was bragging on the humble Kuroko's behalf.

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_I'm happy for your victories, and I'm angered when they're not recognized. I'll admit now what I should have a long time ago: that I care. ___

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Aomine said it by taking things seriously: his team, his basketball, and his occasional tussles with Kagami and Kuroko both. And, even though he didn't know it, he said it by smiling.

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_After all that time I spent admiring your dedication, even after I preached to you about not giving up, I gave up hope, gave up you so easily. So I won't stand down again, and I won't ever let myself forget how much I love this sport. ___

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Murasakibara said it by complaining. Every chance he got, he whined about his defeat. When he wanted to get out of an invite from Kuroko he would complain that he shouldn't have to hang out with the guy who'd beaten him. Whenever Himuro dragged him along to play against Kagami and, inevitably, Kuroko, he complained that he still wasn't over losing to them both (but would crush them if he had to).

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_I still remember the defeat you gave me, and because of how much and how long you had to endure it alone, without my respect, I won't let myself forget its taste too soon. ___

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Akashi said it with his gaze. He had always been the one to see what others couldn't, marking the phantom with his sharp eyes from the moment he first saw him. But now his eyes caught and held Kuroko's with warmth, meant to communicate more intimately than words.

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_Even as you were torn apart, I never looked away from you, never let my gaze pass you over. I watched every moment of it and approved. So please let me show you now just how gentle I can be, since you've freed me from my own control. ___

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As for Kagami Taiga, a great deal of this went over his head, but he knew his shadow's story, both what he'd been told and what he had been there to see, and when he looked back he could tell how it had all fit together.

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Why Kuroko had been so reserved, yet utterly determined when he joined Seirin and chose Kagami as his light: he was a boy hurt, but on a mission.

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Why he had been so quick to correct Kagami's teamwork ethic or curb his temper or supplement his play even when Kagami didn't ask: he was shaping him to avoid the mistakes that had cost him so much.

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Why he had seemed at once invincible and vulnerable before his former teammates: their shared past made old wounds deep, but new ones quick to heal.

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But Kagami also had the privilege of learning who Kuroko was as a person apart from his past. As teammates, partners, then friends, Kagami didn't let all the old news complicate their relationship, but simply cherished their win for the awesome victory that it was for all of Seirin.

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However, he did see the way a perfect tiredness descended on Kuroko after their victory, a kind of relief so acute it looked painful. For a moment in the locker room, seconds before half of them were passed out on the floor, his smile turned sad, as though he was going to cry for the weight that had been lifted off his skinny shoulders. Kagami was about to pretend he hadn't seen it, but Kuroko had already caught him looking. He ducked his blue head in embarrassment, saying quietly, so only Kagami could hear.

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“I missed them...so _much. _”__

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Kagami grinned, and nudged the boy's shoulder.

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“But you brought them back.”

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Kuroko Tetsuya now had a loyal team, five redeemed friendships, and a valued partner, all of whom had reaped rewards from the phantom's play and companionship. The Generation of Miracles, having left him in pain once before, were determined to be there the next time he was visited with hurt. Kagami and Seirin, with no such burden of guilt, were free to simply rest assured in their ability to protect a friend as one ought should the need arise.

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**Author's Note:**

> Any and all feedback--positive/negative, general/specific, mechanical/abstract--is greatly appreciated!


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